


Working

by Schuyler



Series: Continuing [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-04
Updated: 2004-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuyler/pseuds/Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, you're in your little room, and you're working on something good<br/>But if it's really good, you're gonna need a bigger room<br/>-The White Stripes, "Little Room"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working

**Author's Note:**

> This was for Missi's White Blood Cells challenge. All thanks to darling viggorlijah for beta.

Draco stopped in the doorway, swaying back and forth a little. "Everything all right in here? Do you have everything you need?" 

Neville was setting a potted plant on the sill of his big south-facing window. "Yeah. Thank you." He smiled at Draco, then went back to his unpacking. 

"All right. Well, if you need anything, I'll be ... downstairs." And Draco left again. 

They didn't see each other until dinnertime. It was summer and the evening light came pouring in through the great coloured glass window. Neville and his roast were bathed in forest green light. Draco was painted red. This was not like sandwiches. 

Every working day at half-past twelve, they met on the upper balcony overlooking the slope behind the Ministry building and the river below. Neville he'd worked with, down in the basement laboratory, and Draco thought that maybe Hermione felt sorry for him, his family and most of his house killed in the war. And Ron and Harry had warmed up in the last year, expecting him on the balcony, chatting with him every day over wax-paper wrapped sandwiches. 

This was not sandwiches. This was dinner in his home ( their home). Afterward, there would be cake and the newspaper. And Neville would stay. He'd putter for a few more hours, then go up to his room and sleep. When Draco woke up, Neville would still be there. They could go to work separately, but they wouldn't. They would go through the Floo to London together. On that first morning, Draco had woken late. Neville had eaten breakfast alone, then waited until Draco came rushing downstairs to walk through with him. 

*

Neville was surprising. He hadn't grown up the way they'd expected him to. Granted, none of them had really counted on a war either, but Neville was... He'd stayed in the laboratories at Hogwarts, doing brilliant things, and when they would go off for missions and come back, each time he would have changed just a little. Taller, or broader in the shoulders. At some point he'd learned to curse, at some point he'd learned to stand up for himself. Neville Longbottom had grown into a man, and that was the thing they hadn't expected. 

*

Draco walked into the great room and was startled. The candles and the fireplace were lit, making the whole room glow golden. Neville was on the sofa, a tattered throw pillow under his head and one of his grandmother's afghans over his feet. The Wireless was on and Neville was fast asleep. It felt like someone lived there. 

Two weeks after the kiss in the basement laboratory, Neville had invited Draco for dinner before they met Ron and Hermione for a movie. Neville's place was the sort of dim, cramped apartment they all referred to as a Ministry Flat. It was crammed full of books and magazines, throw pillows, quilts and blankets folded on a chair, and along the only wall with windows, there were plants. Tall ones and small ones, barely surviving despite Neville's touch, crammed everywhere with direct sunlight. "These just for fun?" Draco had asked, trying to figure out from the leaves and flowers what they were. He had never been very good at Herbology. 

"No," Neville had said, hanging up his coat, "a little side-project, though I'm not sure I can force them all to bloom at the same time in here. Not enough natural light or heat. But it's worth a shot." 

"You could bring them up to the Manor," Draco had said, and it felt easy and natural to say, though he'd never considered it before. "You and the plants. You could use the old greenhouse." 

Neville had smiled at him then, not so much on the order of fantastically appreciative, but in an ordinary way. "Sure. Thanks." 

Draco hadn't known that Neville and Neville's plants would be accompanied by Neville's lamps and Neville's rocking chair and Neville's scent on his sofa cushions, but he quite liked them anyway. It didn't feel quite so empty anymore. Draco levitated the sleeping Neville up the stairs to his bedroom, the guest bedroom closest to his own. 

*

The next morning, on his way through to the breakfast room, Draco saw Neville's lab notebook lying beside the sofa where he'd fallen asleep. Draco closed it and set it on the end table. 

Draco had no idea what Neville was doing. Neville had never said and Draco wasn't going to ask. The last thing he should do was pry. When Neville trusted him with it, he would say. Draco had fucked up too many things over the last twenty-four years to trust himself here. 

*

Draco woke up to screaming. His wand was in his hand before his eyes were open and he was out of bed in the next breath. He'd heard screaming, he'd caused screaming, but the sound of Neville screaming made him want to stop in the hall and throw up. He came to a stop by throwing himself against Neville's doorjamb. The door was already open. Neville was tangled in his sheets, straining against nothing at all. Draco exhaled and went to the bedside. He set his hands on Neville's shoulders. "Wake up, Neville. It's just a bad dream, damnit, wake up." 

Neville shuddered and went completely still, then opened his eyes. "Oh, God." He shivered again and Draco wiped the sweat from Neville's forehead. His voice was quiet, ashamed. "I'm sorry for waking you." 

"No, it's all right. Get some rest." Draco got up and turned for the door. 

"No!" Neville's hand clamped around his wrist. "I mean, could you not go?" Draco sat again on the edge of the bed. "I usually wake myself up when this starts, I was sort of hoping that it wouldn't happen here. I know it's silly. It's not like I saw the really bad things, not like the rest of you." Neville wasn't looking at him, but his voice was light, like it really was nothing. "If either of us should be screaming, it's you, Draco. You saw terrible things. On both sides." Draco yanked his arm away from Neville's grasp, looked away. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Draco. Do you think that we think of you like that, like a Death Eater?" Draco was naked to the waist and he could feel the Dark Mark like a physical presence on his arm. Neville's arms were long and pale and unblemished. "Look at me, Draco." Neville grabbed his arm again and just stared into Draco's eyes, dared Draco to stare back. "For fuck's sake, Draco, you're good, and you're just going to have to get used to it, all right? You're smart and interesting and not bad to look at. You've got a wicked sense of humor, but deep down you're good. Yeah, maybe you did some bad things for the wrong side, but you were with us when it counted." Neville's eyes had gone all fiery, his jaw was set, and his fingers were digging into Draco's thigh. 

There was silence for a long time. Draco was acutely aware of the moonlight that flooded the room, of Neville, bleached by the light, letting go of him and sliding down under the blankets. After staring for longer than was probably polite, Draco asked quietly, "Do you still want me to stay?" 

"Yeah," Neville said, almost buried under the covers. "You should get in the bed before you freeze to death." Draco went around to the other side of the bed and slid gingerly underneath the blankets. It was already oven-warm underneath and Draco had to will himself still, to keep from burrowing into that warmth, to keep from wrapping himself around Neville. He settled for a hand rested on Neville's back, soft, soft skin made slightly tacky from sweat. Neville shifted back towards him and fell asleep. 

*

The next day at his desk, Draco thought he could still feel Neville's skin under that hand, like that hand was marked. At lunch, outside on the balcony where Harry and Hermione were discussing how soon it would snow, Neville took Draco's cold hand in his warm one and slipped them both into the pocket of his robe. Draco hid his blush behind his sandwich and Neville looked like he'd laugh at him. But Draco knew that it wasn't going to be a cold, evil laugh, the way his own used to sound. He nudged Neville and Neville laughed. Draco thought it sounded clean. 

*

After that, Neville got closer. He sat pressed up to Draco on the sofa and drank out of Draco's glasses. He woke Draco up on a Saturday morning, coaxed him into a t-shirt and out to wash the windows. Draco had found it nearly impossible to keep the Manor gleaming after the elves had ... well, after they'd lost the elves. But it was doable with help. Neville stood one step down from Draco on the ladder, holding him steady. But they did not sleep in the same bed. Draco didn't go back into Neville's room again, and Neville brushed the back of his hand against Draco's each night and went in to his own bed. 

*

Neville came in on a Wednesday night and drank the rest of Draco's scotch. Draco looked up from his book as Neville went to refill the glass. "Can I borrow your lab tomorrow?" 

"Sure, Neville. Anything you need." 

"Great. I'm not going in tomorrow. Don't wait for me." He pressed a kiss to Draco's temple. "I'm off to bed." Neville tossed his hair back off his forehead and left. 

*

Draco laid awake most of the night and thought about going into Neville's room, climbing between Neville's sheets, pressing himself against the length of Neville's body. The place Neville's lips had touched almost tingled. he could feel that spot, the way he could feel the Mark. But this felt good. This he wanted to feel again, wanted to feel again, wanted to feel everyday. He was considering getting up and looking for a coin to flip when he finally drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning, Draco skipped the empty breakfast table and headed out to the greenhouse. If Neville wasn't at breakfast, he was always in the greenhouse. But the greenhouse was empty. Completely empty, all the plants and flowers gone save one hopelessly runty potted flower. Draco took the pot and went to work. 

*

Draco told the others that Neville had taken a personal day and hoped no one asked any questions. Ron just nodded, "I think we all need a break from this place sometimes," and took a bite of his sandwich. 

Now that their laboratory project was over, Draco spent all day processing parchment. He watered the flower he'd liberated from the greenhouse and parked it on his desk. It was a member of the violet family, mostly known for its scent, but this one was weak and drooping. Draco blew off work for the afternoon and made a list of spells that might revive it. 

*

Draco wasn't quite sure what he would find when he stepped through the Floo that evening, but there was just Neville, standing in the living room, holding a glass of something amber. "Great, you're home. Come sit down." Neville came around to the sofa and sat sideways. Draco mirrored him, facing him. Neville set down his drink. "Give me your arm." He knew which one Neville meant and offered up his left arm. He thought that perhaps he should be frightened or worried, but he simply couldn't manage it. He trusted Neville completely. 

Neville's fingers unbuttoned Draco's cuff and pushed up the layers of fabric. His fingers were soft and warm where they skidded, unfearful, over the Mark, and his jumper smelled like he'd spent all day in the old laboratory. He wondered what Neville would smell like after a day in bed. Draco shook his head and focused again. "You might want to have a drink, Draco. This could hurt." Draco swallowed the rest of Neville's drink. His amateur potions master produced a pot of salve from his top pocket. It was white and greasy and looked harmless, but when Neville smeared it over his arm, it felt strange. Draco heard himself grunt, as if far away, and sweat bloomed along his brow and down his arm. "You can hold on to me, Draco." His fingers closed around Neville's bicep and he tried to hold still. "How does it feel?" 

"Like it's pushing at me, like tearing in reverse. Is this what you've been working on all this time?" 

Neville just watched his arm and nodded. "You didn't deserve it. You're good, Draco. I just ... I didn't want you to feel different anymore." Neville looked up and Draco kissed him again, but this time hard and a little frantic. He was trying to say something. His free hand wound into Neville's thick, dark hair and Neville's hand found the back of his neck and pressed him close. It took Draco a moment to realize that Neville hadn't pushed him away, that Neville felt hungry too. All this trouble, all this work, Neville had done this for him, and Draco had been pussyfooting around these last five weeks. He wanted to smack himself. He wanted to press Neville into the cushions. He wanted Neville to push him back. 

Draco pulled away first. Neville, eyes still closed, gave a little breathy moan and Draco knew that that would be his undoing. Neville's eyes opened, his wet lips smiled, and he stayed, stayed close enough that Draco could feel Neville's warm breath fan across his lips. 

They tilted their heads down, close enough that Draco could feel Neville's hair brush his forehead. The skin on Draco's arm was pale and unblemished except for a mole he'd had since birth. The Mark was gone. 

Neville unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, put his naked forearm alongside Draco's. "Now you're just like us."


End file.
